Monday, 30 January 2012


Thank you for your honesty
but honestly
this openness is not for me.

You've thrown my brain a bombshell of a seed
which grips at my temples and grows
into a rotten tangle of weeds
and I don't like what I see.

I've never been good at tackling the roots,
I just chop away at the surface,
and so up again my sadness shoots
taking a hold of my overactive head,
oh why can't it just let me be?

Now I'm not so sure if I have the tools
to rid myself of this terrible mess
and my pride hates to be made a fool
and yes, I wear my heart in my chest
but it's always looking to jump over the fences
one day I'll find an axe for this hideous tree.


sounds better
than a thousand words of truth.

Sunday, 29 January 2012

On Moving

Sorting through all of the old boxes
containing the items from years ago.
Howling like a pair of hungry foxes
my parents coo over my baby grow.
They said that they could smell my childhood
when all I could smell was the stench of dust.
I had the best upbringing a child could
and they had the best of a child's trust.
But now this place where memories were made
must be left behind to live new places
and although nostalgaic smells may well fade
I will store like photos, childhood faces.

And I hope that when I have this new home
memory will remind me I'm not alone.

Saturday, 28 January 2012

The Winter Ends

Well lately I've been waking up
to dark skies and numb toes
and I haven't been finding the energy
to get out of bed,
it's like my blanket can protect me
from the prospects of real life.
The frost has been set for far too long
and as much as I find awe
in the scenes it creates,
the implications are becoming tiresome
and the novelty of beauty
wears off faster than the snow could melt.
I can't continue to stay home
with the upstairs light on
like that album cover
which I have worn out over winter months,
and although it speaks to me
it's all hitting a bit too close to reality.
I can't continue to be fuelled
by coffee and catharsis,
like I'm waiting out
for this bitter shift to end,
it's gotten to the point where I'm dependent
and in turn that makes me loathe myself.
I can't continue to write
about ideals and ambitions
which will never come into fruition
as much as people insist otherwise.
I can't continue to wait
to see what happens
when the winter ends.


Angels fly into my ear
and flutter their way to my brain
where they free me of my fear;
their wings willing wild thoughts to wane.

I hope these angels feel at ease
with where they are staying for now...
I'm not ready to set them free
until their strength they endow.

But I cannot tie them down
to somewhere they do not belong
so I'll release them from my crown
and find the strength I had all along.

I no longer have guardian angels
but I am also free of my demons
and the wisdom imparted from each party
is enough to keep my darkness alight
and is enough to keep my fears at bay.
Angels help me to sleep at night
and keep me watchful in the day.

Friday, 27 January 2012


I am waiting for you
to give me an excuse
because I'm out of my mind.
I am standing static
within your mind's attic
and I'm surrounded by mines.

Thursday, 26 January 2012


I am on my own in a crowded place
and my mind is elsewhere; right in your arms.
I keep imagining I've seen your face
mesmerised by my mind's imitating charms.

And in that moment, for the first time I'm sure
that these sentiments are extremely real,
and that this night's loneliness is more pure
than any happiness that I could feel.

Absence does not make the heart grow fonder
but absence does make fondness feel clearer,
and in your absence I'm left to ponder
the happiness I'd have if you were nearer.

Loneliness is worth having something to miss
when your patience is rewarded with a kiss.

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

The Painter

Delicate expressions on her soft face
match the delicate strokes that she creates,
colours carved and blended in careful pace
I'm enthralled as the next stroke patiently waits.

A slight smile on her lips as she takes a break
cannot match the wide beam that my mouth wears
as I've noticed my jaw beginning to ache
whilst she's busy worrying about her hair.

Anxious to see her painting completed
all I can do is watch her movements
as those tender motions are repeated
her sweet splendour could have no improvements.

And to me, she is the finest work of art
whose beauty could capture this critic's heart.

Monday, 23 January 2012

Meaning to Say

These are the words that I was too scared to say aloud,
so these words shyly retire onto the page.
These are the feelings that make me ever so proud
that our feelings emerge and engage.

Bombs and Blades

This modern society rests on a time bomb
with the city darting around in circles
like cogs and gears, waiting for the hands to change.
They all wear that same ticked off look on their face;
impatient and anxious
they are are waiting for something to happen.

The digital faces which have been relied on
too much, for too long,
have been glitching, stuttering false figures.
We need to unplug from this faulty system
of mistruths told and misguided 'advances'
and go back to what once worked...
now is not a time for bombs,
let's go back to digging the blade in deep.


Drench me or dry me
just don't leave me
damp and in the dark.

Sunday, 22 January 2012

The Leaf Left Aloft

I am that leaf on the highest branch of the tree
which is always first to fall.
From where you stand, the lowest leaves are all you see...
you don't notice me at all.
I am scared that you won't be able to reach me
or see that I am falling
I am scared that my happiness and growth will be
based on the seasons stalling.

Saturday, 21 January 2012


You've been growing on me
like a beard in the winter months,
keeping me warm
and guarding me against my insecurities...

yet I'm scared
that when it comes to summer
all that you'll be
is a useless irritating mess.

Friday, 20 January 2012

Ghost in the Glass

Reflecting upon my reflection,
staring intently into his eyes
obscured by the lamp light's deflection
full of distortion, darkness and lies.

My whispers give off condensation
until his shape has become a ghost
in some dreamy floaty elation
pressed to the pane, powerlessly engrossed.

Night is sneakily swallowing the day;
I am watching the digestion through the glass
but still his intense shadow won't go away
and my infatuation will not pass.

And so I continue to sit and stare
at something which is not really there.

Tuesday, 17 January 2012


Sound out the songs that your soul sings
and bask in the essence
of those sweetest senses
that swim in such sounds.

Lateral Approximant

Let us lie low
before you let it loose;
the lovely language
that your lips slip into.


Finding faults in feeble feelings,
foolish and forlorn,
and I can't fathom why
I first felt them.


Pick up the pieces
that you proudly dispelled
between my portion and plight;
but don't blunder into more painful puzzles.

Monday, 16 January 2012

Selfish Mind

This mind is mine.
It is the only
thing in this world
that I still have
completely for myself
so why should I share that?


A man needs to experience feeling stressed
to remind him that he is usually blessed
because when that struggle begins to go
it is only then when he will know
that every second that he is living
is just another which the world is giving.

At the Pond (Linger)

Origami ships and cannonball drips
plummeting to the depths of the pond.
Palms on hips and eyes on inviting lips
floating to the surface, buoyantly fond.

Stale crumbs tear as the ducks squabble and share
feasting upon the gift of remains.
Visible air lingers around your hair
the defiant frost of winter never wanes.

Footsteps crunch and crack on the icy track,
using balance as an excuse to hold hands
but what foothold lacks the touch will bring back
lingering fingertips they both understand.

Now they cannot let each other slip
for they tread in time to the heart's soft skip.

Sunday, 15 January 2012

One Petal Too Far

Torturing roses, petal by petal,
he watches downy dashes of deep crimson
descend to the floor,
dropping in a dulling descrescendo
at hardly one hundred heartbeats per hour.
Knowing already that she loves him not
he clings to the stem
as though it bring any sense or salvation,
but the tighter he clasps that broken dream
the deeper the thorns inearth into his palms
and as he has not the heart
to remove those thorns buried deeper still
it is the delicate surface which suffers.
Soon, he will strip the petals bare
and by then he will not be unrooted
with glossy eyes like some horticultural prize
and just bloody thorns in his hands.


Disappointment is the product of expectation,
and expectation is the sum of arrogant thoughts;
to subtract the sadness from your life
you must divide your heart from your ego.

Friday, 13 January 2012


I've been hovering over that button
debating whether or not to press send
but should that action instigate something
then I would not be able to amend.

I am scared of that final commitment;
I am scared of that want the most
because if the message I give's misplaced
then I would find so much shame in my post.

So I keep my deepest feelings as a draft
free for editing until the time is right
for me to publish my words for your eyes
when I'm confident they'd be a welcome sight.

When you're ready you can click and be my link
but for now I need some more time to think.

Skeleton Key

I always come up with notions
with the best of intentions
but often lack the devotion
to bring them into invention.
It's like I'm holding a brass key
when I cannot find a door
and it takes everything in me
not to throw it to the floor.
Someday I will find my keyhole
and handles which glitter and gleams
opening up a clean soul
where I can unlock all my dreams.

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Impossibility in Originality

Everything we do and
everything we are is
contrived and
We blunder
the same direction in
similar gait with
our individual
grubby footprints.

Life on Loop

Someone tell God
that my tape is stuck,
all that I'm living
is the same stuttered scenes.

I am scared
to press eject
although I know
that I must.


There's a rationale
for each irrational thought
and I don't know if
I'm paranoid

Tuesday, 10 January 2012


seem like a distant memory
washed away
on an old piece of driftwood,
consider your rescue, but it's
more humane
to let nature run its course.

Monday, 9 January 2012

Clawing for Escape

Tears they,
they soak my throat
and the inside of my chest
but tears they,
they won't soak my skin.

Saturday, 7 January 2012


Nervously walking through your inviting door
I am having second thoughts about this place
but I cannot plan my exit anymore
because you have already seen my face.

So I head towards you and greet you with a hug,
your touch lingering longer than I would dare
my hands webbing fitting your hips so snug,
the light bounces off your radiant glare.

It takes all of my strength to pull away
and now all of my doubts have left the room
leaving you and I alone to stay
where we can hold hands and watch our orchids bloom.

I head to the bar and buy us both a drink
whilst you briefly go outside to breathe the night,
from the doorway you give me a small wink
that upturns and sets my stomach alight.

We head back towards where we were just standing
as the band begins to play our dearest song,
our eye contact conveys an understanding
that for now this dance is where we belong.

When the song reaches its last, drawn out notes
we make our excuses for an early leave,
in an anxious haste we gather our coats
so we can share our hearts and interweave.


On my arm there is a smudged stain
where you scribbled your number and name,
and I wonder if it will remain
for as long as you've been on my brain.

I've scrubbed at it until I bled
but it was still there when skin was shed
so it will stay until I am dead
or at least until I'm in your bed.

I keep your name close like a tattoo
your ink touches me royal and blue
and now whatever I choose to do
I am always reminded of you.

Passing Songs

Dread fills my heart as a snippet of a resonate song
blares out from a builders old radio on my ascent of the hill,
the lyrics prodding me like impatient children who've waited too long
to see me shakily sing the words back agasinst my will.

They tell in part, a tale that I already know will come to be
but I convince myself it won't in order to ease my worries
however that short soundbite was enough for me
and the words come rushing back in tear-frenzied flurries.

When I get to the top of the hill, I look back down
and wonder what all the big fuss was about.
Here, where I can overlook all of the dots in my town
it is evident I was narcisstic in my doubt.

If the artist had once sung about those feelings
then in experiencing the sentement I am not alone,
deep down I know that time holds the ultimate dealings
so I may as well take the gamble when my hand is thrown.


The hairs on my body stand on end
like aerials pointed ninety degrees from my skin.
The goosebumps rise to their morning alarm
which buzz and rattle each other through my gawping corpse.
Meanwhile, the pupils find themselves in tunnels
whilst their blinkered teachers have crept off
to leave the blind but eager children to fend for themselves.

Sensing the subtelties in resonance
I snap from stagnation.
Throw me a pen and napkin
so I can catch this frequency, before

the signal is lost.

Love Science

Could a man denounce the God he believes in
if it meant escaping Satan's wrath
or would his faith out weigh his fear,
when he knew that Love could save him?

Could a man denounce the God he doubts
if it meant escaping Satan's wrath
or would his fear outweigh his faith
when he is terrified of the science behind Love?

Thursday, 5 January 2012

Resplendence Abuse

You flick your ashes in my direction
as your glowing embers waver and wane.
I tell myself it's a sign of affection
but I can't help but inhale your disdain.

It's like you can sense my addiction
and know that I need you like air in my lungs
but you are afraid of the conviction
that is brought by downcast eyes and eager tongues.

Lately I've been thinking that I would quit,
that I could cope without having my fix
but when another of your smiles is lit
I can't help but fall for all of your tricks.

So now I try to ease myself away
breathing in your scent less and less each week,
but that taste in my mouth continues to stay
and it makes it hard for me to speak.

I'm rid of your cancer but hooked on your cure
and I can't bring myself to break the use
so I will continue to feel impure
as you continue to sport and seduce.

I am ready to be rid of your tug,
I am finally ready to say goodbye.
Replacing you with a harder drug
is the only way I can feel Love's high.

Tuesday, 3 January 2012


I used to know a boy with magnetic bones,
who was forced to spend all his time alone
for with each time matched he'd get too attatched
to a connection never his to own.

Each object that bolted on weighed him down
like a ten tonne plutonium jewelled crown
and each magnetic pull left his shoulders full
until his forehead was forced into a frown.

But he realised he'd been blessed all along
when each latching shard of armour made him strong
and he would grow with each piece that he'd know
which he could make right from each steely cold wrong.

Now that boy I knew welcomes each attraction
and does not let weight become a distraction,
finding such bliss in each metallic kiss
that carries on growing upon retraction.

Slaying the Senseless

I've been enclosing this ravenous, scornful snake
safely away in a cave guarded by white stones.
He is held cruelly there for humanity's sake
so that he may not strip them down right to their bones.

But lately I've been thinking that it's more humane
to set him free to devour a corpse bit by bit,
for he only chooses those with a barren brain
which he playfully calls "survival of the wit".

So the only way to keep this serpent away
is simply to display the snake some common sense,
but this so called common notion is scarce today
and I'm let the massacre commence.

Monday, 2 January 2012


Would I be subject to your objection
if you were the object of my subjection?